


The Spice Cabinet

by ennuithereyet



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, OCD!Bitty, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, post-coming out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:53:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8668333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennuithereyet/pseuds/ennuithereyet
Summary: The kitchen was Eric’s sacred space now, so imagine his surprise when he opened his spice cabinet to find… chaos.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Imperfect](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/243724) by omgittybits. 



> So this is inspired by [omgittybits](http://omgittybits.tumblr.com/)‘s (angryspaceravenclaw on AO3) recent [OCD!Bitty drabble](http://omgittybits.tumblr.com/post/153707694105/imperfect) which made me realize Bitty could definitely have OCD and I should definitely project my own experiences with OCD onto him. Tbh I have a lot more thoughts about OCD!Bitty so please come to my [Tumblr](http://downtheupstairs.tumblr.com/) and ask me about it.

_One_ two three _four_ five six _seven_ eight nine, _one_ two three-

 

Eric could feel the tension easing out of his brain as he glided over the ice. There was a reason he always chose music in 3/4 time to skate to. It worked perfectly with his counts, except sometimes the ends of the songs, if they didn’t end when he was at nine. But that was minor.

 

He went into a double toe loop as he started a new count, but he didn’t land right. Technically, he did fine. If this was a competition, the judges wouldn’t have marked him off at all for that jump. But it didn’t _feel_ right. The pressure on his blade wasn’t right, the way the landing reverberated through his leg wasn’t right. Eric didn’t know how to describe it other than _wrong_.

 

He had to do it again. So he did. And it still wasn’t right. So he did it again, and again, and again. Just one more, and then he’d get it right. That’s what he told himself.

 

Except he didn’t get it right. As he came down for the sixth time, his anxiety made him sloppy, and his ankle twisted. He fell, sliding on his ass. _Goddammit_ , he thought to himself. But at least he wasn’t stuck doing jumps anymore.

  


Eric limped slightly as he got back to the Haus, and although he tried to hide it, the other boys in the Haus could be perceptive when you least wanted them to be.

 

“Yo, Bitty,” Holster called from the living room when Eric was still crossing the foyer. “What happened to your leg?”

 

“Nothing,” Eric said, trying to hide his frustration at himself for getting hurt. He feigned a smile at the group of boys in the living room. “Just twisted my ankle skating, is all. I’ll be fine.” Eric took his old figure skates out to Faber about once a week, just to relax, even though he often ended up more stressed-out than before. He couldn’t just stop figure skating, though, not when it had been such a big part of his life for so long.

 

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Chowder asked, even though the rest of the boys were now unconcerned. They were hockey players, so they’d all had their fair share of injuries and a twisted ankle was nothing.

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Eric insisted, still keeping his smile so as not to hurt the goalie’s feelings. He didn’t stick around longer to see if Chowder would still worry. He excused himself, saying he had to go shower, and went upstairs.

 

He sang Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” while in the shower to keep himself distracted. If he was in the shower for forty-five minutes because he couldn’t wash right, someone would worry for sure.

 

After he was done in the shower, Eric’s ankle was already feeling better. He got dressed and went down to the kitchen to make a pie. Jack and Shitty had come over to watch the Flyers vs. Aces game, but after a quick hello to them and a kiss for Jack, Eric excused himself to the kitchen.

 

Baking was more relaxing than skating. Baking didn’t have the same subjective _does it feel right_ that skating did, because it was less about the body. And baking was mathematical. Eric wasn’t the best at math, but there was always something relaxing about numbers. Something relaxing about taking a spoon and stirring his pumpkin pie filling while counting

 

 _One_ two three _four_ five six _seven_ eight nine.

 

The kitchen was Eric’s sacred space now, so imagine his surprise when he opened his spice cabinet to find… chaos.

 

Nothing was where it belonged. The spices weren’t grouped by use like usual. The bottles weren’t even all standing up, some of them were knocked over.

 

Eric was shaking. It wasn’t that things were messed up. It was that someone had been _in his spice cabinet, touching his spices_.

 

He grabbed the cinnamon that had fallen out when he’d opened the door and stormed to the living room where everyone was watching the game. “Who,” he said with a fake smile, “messed up my spice cabinet?”

 

Everyone turned to look at him, bewildered to see the normally-cheery Bitty trembling like this.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Nursey said, the only one who seemed unperturbed by Bitty’s tension. “We ordered pizza, so I was trying to find the red pepper flakes, and I kinda knocked things over, so I tried to put them all back. Sorry ‘bout that.”

 

“Oh, it’s not a problem,” Eric lied, trying his hardest to play it cool. “I was just. Wondering.” His knuckles were white as he gripped the cinnamon. He turned on his heels and headed back to the kitchen.

 

Back in the kitchen, Eric stood in front of his spice cabinet, gripping the countertop. He took a deep breath in

 

 _One_ two three _four_ five six _seven_ eight nine

 

And out

 

 _One_ two three _four_ five six _seven_ eight nine.

 

He didn’t feel any better when he looked back up at the open cabinet. He started taking everything out, dropping half of the bottles his hands were still shaking so bad.

 

“Bits?” called a voice from behind him.

 

Eric froze for a split second, then forced himself to appear somewhat relaxed. “Yeah, hon?” he responded.

 

“You okay?” Jack asked, and Eric heard him take another step forward, though he was still a good few feet away.

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Eric insisted breathlessly. “The boys tell you about my ankle? I just _twisted_ it, it’s not like it’s broken or anything-”

 

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Jack said. “I’m talking about the spice cabinet.”

 

“The spice- It’s just some spices, it’s nothing,” Eric said, turning to face Jack even though he could practically feel the spices burning a hole in the back of his head, reminding him they were out of order.

 

“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” Jack said. “You know you can tell me anything.”

 

Eric sighed. “It’s stupid,” he said.

 

“Even stupid things,” Jack said.

 

Eric walked forward and pulled Jack into a hug. The taller man wrapped his arms around Eric, holding him securely.

 

“I just…” Eric said after a while. “I didn’t need this today.”

 

“What happened?” Jack asked.

 

“Everything’s just bad today,” Eric explained. “My um. My thing. The OCD.” He was still getting used to saying it out loud. He’d never told anyone but Jack about it, even though it was the main reason he’d quit figure skating competitively. He was lucky he had other reasons he could pretend were the whole story.

 

“Can I help?” Jack asked.

 

“Stay here?” Eric asked. It always helped to have someone in the same room, because he’d trained himself to not give into his compulsions as much when someone else was there.

 

“Of course,” Jack said. He stayed there while Eric took an hour rearranging the spice cabinet, then as he finished his pie. He stayed the night too, holding him close, just in case.

 

And there, Bitty could finally relax, as he was falling asleep and counting

 

 _One_ two three _four_ five six _seven_ eight nine.


End file.
